


my choice is you

by becka



Category: One Direction (Band), Pop Music RPF
Genre: F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:30:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I just wanted it to be right," she says, "with someone who’d know how to treat me well. I didn't want to just throw it away, but I didn't want to make too much of it either. I love a handsome prince on a noble steed, but I can be realistic."</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Taylor is a girl who knows what she wants. And she knows she wants Harry to give it to her. Set post-MSG.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my choice is you

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by [balefully](http://archiveofourown.org/users/balefully), who has put up with way too much of my nattering about these two this week.
> 
> For what it's worth, this isn't real, it didn't happen, and anything that did is none of my business.

She invites him back to her hotel in a whisper, her breath warm against the curve of his ear, and Harry grins and goes to get his things, murmurs goodnights to everyone he meets between the table and the door with blissful indifference. Taylor’s blushing prettily, and he kisses her in the elevator down, surprised when her lipstick doesn’t smear. “Easy, breezy, beautiful Cover Girl,” she says, touching her lips and winking. He kisses her again. And again in the car, and in the lobby, and Taylor is laughing at him, but he’s a little bit drunk and she’s lovely.

She fumbles the key to her room when he presses his lips to the back of her neck, and the little hitch of her breath makes him want to do it again. He remembers wondering whether she’d be a bit cold once it came to it, speculating rudely with the boys about it before they’d even met. Not that it had felt rude at the time, but now that he thinks back on it, it doesn’t seem all right.

They stumble to the bed in the dark, and Harry nearly trips over one of Taylor’s discarded shoes, falling against her shoulder laughing. “How drunk are you?” she asks, sliding a hand into his hair and pulling his face up to hers. He can see in her eyes that it’s a serious question, and he scrunches up his face giving it some thought.

“A bit. But not plastered. Not in danger of being violently ill in your toilet.”

She presses closer and slips her thigh between his. “That’s not really what I’m worried about.”

Harry stutters, loses any thought unrelated to Taylor’s hip pressed right up against his hardening cock. “That should be fine, yeah,” he manages, and she kisses him almost chastely.

The hidden zip on her dress defeats his clumsy hands, and she rolls out from under him to take it off. In the scant light through the filmy curtains, her underwear is all the same pale shade as her skin. Harry kisses her breasts through thin, silky fabric, mouths at her tightening nipples until she twists under him. Her hair splays against the white duvet, and her fingers clutch at his shoulders, press into his flesh like she can’t remember how to let go. When he starts kissing down the smooth skin of her belly, mouth practically watering just imagining how she’ll taste, Taylor plucks at the shoulders of his t-shirt, reminding him that he’s still dressed while she’s down to her knickers.

He backs off the end of the bed, and she sits up to watch him wrestle out of his clothes, down to his boxer-briefs in a matter of moments. And then Harry’s suddenly unsure. He hasn’t actually asked her how far she wants to go, and for all that his preconceived notions were mostly wrong, he’s afraid that’s something Taylor bloody Swift might care about.

“I thought the four nipples were an urban legend,” she says, reaching out to touch them one by one, the two on his chest and the two lower down.

Harry grins. “I’m legendary then, am I?”

Her eyes flick to the hidden shape of his cock. “Could be.” She tries to sound nonchalant, but it comes out nervous, and Harry wishes he hadn’t stood up because now getting back into bed is infinitely more awkward. “Look,” she says finally. “I haven’t actually done this before.”

Harry sits down at the end of the bed and folds his hands in his lap. He’s thinking he should have asked her policy on sex after one and a half dates sooner. “Anything you’re comfortable with is perfectly fine,” he assures her, meaning it. “Kissing or… anything? It’s your choice.”

“No, Harry, I mean”—she picks up a box of condoms from the bedside table and rattles it at him—“I’m choosing this. I just haven’t done it before.”

Harry’s eyes go wide, and he makes a noise of shock before he can help himself. “You mean you haven’t, like, at all?”

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and her cheeks are nearly as red as her lipstick. “Not all the way.”

“Jesus,” says Harry. “Why me then? Why not”—he casts about for the names of Taylor’s ex-boyfriends, cannot find them through the haze in his mind—“anyone else?”

“I wasn’t ready for it. I didn’t want to that much, and it seemed like more trouble than it was worth.”

“I would never have thought of sex as being more trouble than it’s worth. I mean, short of, like, having it in a public toilet or something.” Harry pauses. "So, you were, what, waiting for me?" he asks, knowing exactly how stupid it sounds, but he can't really help drawing the conclusion, can he? It's such a foreign concept, waiting, not having sex when you want it and it’s available, although he knows plenty of people live their lives that way.

"Not for you specifically," says Taylor. She's been so un-self-conscious about her body, propped up on her elbows watching him, but now she curls in on herself a bit, tucking up her knees and resting her chin on them. "I just wanted it to be right, with someone who’d know how to treat me well. I didn't want to just throw it away, but I didn't want to make too much of it either. I love a handsome prince on a noble steed, but I can be realistic."

Harry stands there like an idiot long enough that she speaks again.

"I don't want to seem cold."

"You don't," says Harry quickly. "Honestly, I'm just. Surprised." Part of him wants to ask a lot of lurid, detailed “why me?” questions, but mostly he knows better, and he doesn't need his ego stroked. "Where I come from, it isn't such a big deal, I think."

"And you're a boy," Taylor points out.

"That, too." He knees onto the bed. She tilts her face up to his for a kiss, and he brushes a hand down her cheek. "So we just pick up where we left off then?"

"I'm hoping so." Taylor smiles into his mouth, falls back under him again so they're tangled together skin to skin. Harry's dick perks up as soon as he starts kissing her again, and his pants are uncomfortably tight, stretched over the heavy length of it. She spreads her legs around his hips, and he can feel how hot her skin is, the crotch of her knickers already damp. When Harry rocks down into her, she gasps and pushes up against him.

He burrows a hand down to find the clasp of her bra, and Taylor arches up to help him. Harry slides it off her and takes one of her nipples into his mouth, pulling a little with his teeth. Taylor says his name on a gasp, curls a hand into his hair and holds him there. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are wild when he pulls off to switch sides, and it’s lovely, making her feel like this.

He slips a hand down between her legs, feeling her out, fingers sliding along the slit of her pussy, the smooth, clinging fabric of her knickers helping and hindering both. He presses one finger in to rub at her clit, and Taylor says, “Wait,” the word sharp and urgent. And it means she’s close, that she’s just on the verge of coming. The knowledge is heady. Harry cups his hand between her thighs, holds off touching even though he can smell her now, the musky scent of sex underneath her light perfume. He wants her fiercely, and his cock is making a smeary mess of the front of his pants, but he goes back to kissing her, just kissing her until he feels calmer, less desperate.

“I want to eat you out,” he says baldly, the honest truth because his mouth is practically watering at the thought of it.

Taylor’s lips purse, and she looks torn. Harry wonders whether that was bad form somehow.

“Has anyone done that to you before?” he asks awkwardly, ready to make a compelling case for oral sex if necessary.

But she nods. “Yeah, I just.” She bites her lip, and he stares distractedly at her finally smudging lipstick, the contrast of her white teeth and her red lips. “I don’t really like to… reciprocate. So it’s not really fair.”

Harry’s all for fairness, but he has literally never cared less about the thought of getting a blowjob in his entire life. “I don’t care. Honestly. I just really, really want to.”

Her cheeks are pink, and her smile is a modest, flickering curve. “And then after?”

He licks his lips. “Anything you want. Everything.”

“Good.” She winks at him, looking confident again, in control. “Show me what you’ve got then, Harry Styles.”

He grins, fakes an American accent, badly he’s sure. “I’ll do you proud, ma’am.”

She’s still laughing when he crawls down between her legs, tugs her knickers down her thighs, and presses a kiss to the flat of her belly. The hair between her legs is darker blond than the hair on her head, neatly trimmed, glistening wetly at the edges of her slit. He spreads her on two fingers, and even his breath on her skin makes her moan softly. Harry presses his tongue flat, testing, licking up the length of her before finding her clit with the tip of his tongue. He loves this, loves it with anyone, but feeling Taylor tremble against his tongue is especially great.

And then she starts giving him instructions. “Not so hard,” as he sucks at her clit, and “Like that, just like that” when he flutters his tongue against the mouth of her pussy. Somehow he hadn’t expected her to talk, but it just makes him all the more desperate to please. He dips a fingertip into the center of her, and Taylor tells him “Deeper,” shivering against his knuckles. He works her clit gently, fucks her on one finger until she starts to shake, until he can feel her about to come. But she doesn’t tell him to wait this time, bucks her hips up against his mouth, and Harry’s face is already glazed wet with her juices, but he buries himself between her legs anyway, breathes in deep, tasting the tang of her all the way at the back of his tongue. Taylor actually says, “Oh my gosh,” when she comes, and he’s hardly in a position to laugh, but it’s gorgeous, her fingers gripping his hair and “ohmygosh” and the way she clenches down silky and tight on his finger.

Harry rests his face against her thigh, snatching deep breaths, and Taylor’s still trembling, still tensed. “I could go again,” she says shakily. “I think you should…”

It’s not as though Harry’s forgotten how hard he is, but his cock gives an almost painful twitch, and he says, “Okay,” as though that isn’t the best thing he’s ever heard.

He struggles out of his boxer-briefs while she tears open the box of condoms, detaches one little packet from the rest and passes it to him. She doesn’t even try to pretend she’s not staring at his dick. “It’s… bigger than average,” she says doubtfully, rubbing a hand between her legs like she’s shielding herself.

“It is,” agrees Harry without vanity. It’s never come up as a negative before, but he knows what he’s packing. He wraps a hand around himself. “We don’t have to,” he assures her. His balls ache at the thought, but he can’t imagine how he’d feel if he didn’t say it.

“No,” Taylor says, wrapping her hand around his, feeling out the length of his dick. “Just slow, okay?”

Harry nods. He rolls on the condom and settles himself against her, rubbing their noses together. Taylor holds him in her hand, gentle, rubs herself on the head of his cock, nudging it against her pussy until he can feel her start to open for him, and he has to shut his eyes for a second, gather his control.

“Can you look at me?” she asks breathlessly. “I just want to see you when we…” And he does, and at close range her eyes are so blue, wide with uncertainty and want. She presses up a little more, and he starts to slide into her. And she’s so wet, so easy at first, taking him inside herself. Harry’s eyes are watering, but he doesn’t even blink, keeps watching until he’s in deep enough that it’s hard for her, and she shifts her hips, finding the angle where he can go deeper, filling up the tight space inside of her.

And she is tight, so tight around him, the slick walls of her pussy flexing on his dick. She can’t take all of him, no matter how she moves, though she lifts her knees and squeezes her thighs around his hips, trying. The head of his cock is butting right up against her cervix, and there’s nowhere he can go, and it’s amazing. “All right?” he asks.

“I can’t,” she says, like she has something to apologize for, like maybe he’s disappointed.

Harry shakes his head, kisses her. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect. Can I just…” He pulls back a little, slides into her again and she moans, links her hands at the small of his back and lets him do it again. She’s flushed all over, pale skin gone hot and pink, and he kisses her lips, her cheeks, the long column of her neck.

“Harder,” she breathes out finally, and Harry leans into her, speeding his thrusts, his balls drawn up tight and tingling. He shifts a hand down, thumbs over her clit, but she says, “Hang on, I’ll…” and replaces his fingers with her own, working herself in a rhythm he’ll have to learn, squeezing around him as he pushes into her.

Harry’s learned a lot of control in the last couple of years, but it’s awful trying to hold out now, letting her have the time she needs. He buries his face in the crook of her shoulder, nips at her collarbone with his teeth, and Taylor comes, closing down so tight on his cock that they both cry out. He’s there just behind her, holding himself as deep as he can and rocking a little into her as he spills, thick come filling the tip of the condom.

He reaches down, holding the condom as he pulls out, and she cups a hand around herself again, rubbing against the wet openness of her pussy. Her eyes find his, and she smiles, almost a smirk.

Harry grins back. “So that’s sex then,” he says, tying off the condom and tossing it in the bin beside the bed.

“Yeah,” she replies. “I thought so.” She’s smiling, but there’s a faraway look in her eyes, hard to read.

He settles down beside her, throwing his leg over hers. “All right?”

She cups his chin, kisses him for an answer. She’s lost in her own head when she stops, gone quiet to think. He pulls her in tight against his chest, kisses the top of her head. “You know,” he says after a minute, “if you’re thinking up a song just now, I’ve got a bit of experience rhyming things with ‘Harry’s massive cock.’”

Taylor laughs, surprised and then fond, one hand squeezing his ribs. “I’ll split the royalties with you,” she says. “Promise.”


End file.
